


The Silverbird

by Hexenjäger (Rodarolla2)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bending (Avatar), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodarolla2/pseuds/Hexenj%C3%A4ger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan has lived in fear of people discovering his bending, as it is seen as witchcraft or the Devil's work by the people around him. He hides it very well, until the Vikings raid Lindisfarne. He is taken prisoner and carried back to the Vikings' home. There, he is shown a new way of life where he does not have to fear being discovered as a bender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silverbird

_Days passed by slowly for people like me. Every waking moment was filled with anxiety, fear, and being on your guard. At night, you feared even more, after all what if you couldn't control yourself? What if you had a night terror and all your control slipped away even for a moment in the presence of someone who could not be trusted? Death or worse will surely come to you. Many people, no, most people like me never sleep for that reason. It takes a toll on the mind, but it is worth it to stay alive, maybe not safe or healthy, but alive. I am one of those who never sleep. It isn't hard for me in all honesty. I mean, living with my father was far scarier than being on my own and having to worry about someone, anyone, finding out my secret. You may be wondering what I'm talking about. What do you mean "people like you?" Why is such control important? Who am I? Well, I'll address that._

 

_My name is Athelstan. I used to live in a small village in Northumbria with my father. He was the local drunk and village blacksmith. I do not like him, I never liked him. He was scum. I shouldn't say that about him. I'll have to repent of that later, but before that, I must get this all of my chest. He would beat me. I lived in fear of him. I could not sleep at night, for fear of his next beating. I still bear the scars from my horrifying child years. When I discovered my secret, the beatings only grew worse. He beat me till I could hardly breathe, saying he would "beat the devil out of me." It would get worse when he would discover that the wounds he inflicted upon my small body had healed over night, correctly guessing I used my secret to heal them. I should feel guilty about what I'm about to say, or really write, since I'm writing this down in a journal as the rest of the Brothers of Lindisfarne sleep, but I can't bring myself to, not after what he put me through. I killed my father when I was young. He had come home and, in a drunken rage, declared me to look enough like a woman to do what he attempted next. I can't even bring myself to write what it was, but I'm certain that you understand. I did not use my secret, like one might expect. I used a knife. Using my secret was even more of a death wish than killing someone, even if it was in self-defense, like I did. I will spare you the details, but it was horrific, a fitting retribution, if you look at it in the stand point of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." I did not do as much to him as he did to me. I could not torture someone. It's simply not my nature, not even then, when I was half-feral and half-cowed dog. I ran then, but wouldn't anyone who did not wish to die? I ran, the marks from his latest beating still bleeding. I did not have the time to heal myself nor did I wish to possibly expose myself. I was found a few days away from that village by Father Cuthbert, a priest in the monastery of Lindisfarne. He treated my wounds, fed me, and took me back with him to Lindisfarne. He was the first to show me such kindness. It was extraordinary. The other brothers were kind to me as well. The boys there close to my age attempted to include me in whatever they were doing, though it took almost a year before I was comfortable enough to join them. They were all patient and soon after I began to join them, I was the closest of friends with them. I have never let anyone in on my secret here at Lindisfarne, not even Father Cuthbert. It's been hard, not letting anyone find out, but I've managed. I just realized that tomorrow marks ten years since I discovered my secret, eight since Father Cuthbert brought me here to Lindisfarne. It seems like far longer than it actually has been. I feel that I should be approaching thirty years of age, not nine and ten as I will be tomorrow. By this point you are probably bursting with curiosity of what my secret could be, so I'll tell you._

 

_I am a bender. When I was nine, I discovered that I could bend water. I know that bending is seen as something of the devil here, in England and the rest of Christendom, but I'm not so certain. Yes, the benders mainly spoke of in God's Word were evil, but is that really true for all of us? Jesus Christ treated benders no differently than anyone else he came into contact with, until he had to rebuke them for their misdeeds. There were laws written in the time of the Ten Commandments being given that spoke about benders, but none condemned them to death for something they were born with. It makes me wonder. How did we get so demonized that children as young as six are executed, tortured under the guise of purifying them of the devil's influence that it is rare for an adult to survive it, much less a small child, simply for the fact that they can control one of the elements? How has humanity, the Church especially, fallen to such a level that they feel no remorse for a child screaming for their mothers, for the pain to stop, for them to die just so the pain would stop-_

 

Athelstan had to pause here, nearly throwing his quill down, so he could clutch at his head. The voices he had heard in those events hammered at his ears. He breathed harshly as he tried to get them to shut up. The other sounds associated with those events also came at him, hammering away at him. Tears poured down his face from his screwed shut eyes as desperately tried to push down the horrors of what he had seen being done to his people. He was glad that he was alone. No one else could, or would in some cases, climb to where he often went to think or pray, especially not at night. His favorite spot to be alone at was a little carved out nook near the top of one of the cliff faces. He had discovered it shortly after he arrived at Lindisfarne, when sometimes things just got to him too hard. It was a nice little area. It was actually a secret entrance of sorts. The entrance was not exactly narrow, but not large either. It was a good size to just sit and read, pray, write, maybe draw. You could see the moon and stars easily. The sun shone into the little entrance. That was nice, especially for a waterbender such as himself, but his favorite part was what lay behind it. What his little thinking spot led way to was a large cavern, underground. It had obviously been crafted by an earthbender long ago, by the smoothness of the walls. It had a hole in the ceiling that could be uncovered and covered. His favorite part of the whole cavern, though, was the lake that rested in the far corner. Some benders long ago had created the perfect training ground for all the elements. The scorch marks upon the walls and floor under the ceiling cover, testified to the use firebenders made of the place. Earthbenders were surrounded by their element and the large boulders, indentations, and cracks upon various areas showed that. Airbenders had free-reign of the place, a wall perfect for running along, large enough ceiling to glide through the air, just the space in general was large enough to practice their bending in. The lake in the back was a good size for practicing, or really teaching, Athelstan's bending. He had to teach himself control over his element and this was the perfect place to do so. At night, he was left undisturbed and could practice and train until he had to get ready for morning prayers. 

 

_I had to watch another purification today. Several of the Brothers and Father Cuthbert were called upon to aid in the process. I was one of the ones selected to go. It was a girl this time. She couldn't have been older than ten. It was the manifestation of her bending. Her own mother gave her up to the guards. She stood back and watched as they tortured her child to death. I think Father Cuthbert realized today that no one can change if they can bend or not. He seemed quite upset. Maybe he was just upset at how the guards treated the little girl's corpse afterwards. I don't know. It truly bothers me. I wish that I could have saved her today. She was only ten. She knew what I was. Her fire called to my water. She begged me to save her. She called out "Priest, please help me! Please! Please!" I tried to help her, I really did. I asked Father Cuthbert to get them to stop this. "She wanted to repent, couldn't they see that? But she doesn't know how to repent from this, she needs help!"  I begged Father Cuthbert. "We can help her! All we need to do is take her away from her, let her heal, then show her the way to repentance." By the time he called them to halt, it was too late. I held her battered little body and watched her slip away. I felt her fire die. After that, her little body was treated with so much disrespect, I was forced to do much penance for the thoughts I had and nearly acted upon. I slipped away as all the Brothers went to bed. I went back and retrieved her body to give her a proper burial. I buried her here, in the safe haven for benders I found. How can people do this to their fellow man? Are they scared? Are they jealous? It is disgusting. It scares me, because what's next? Will they attack those with a certain color of eyes or hair, simply because they have it and others don't? Will the different sexes be attacked for being different sexes? What will be next?_

 

Athelstan looked up at the sky, becoming lighter as dawn came nearer. He sighed. It was time to get back for morning prayers. He closed his journal and slipped it and the other items he brought with him into his bag. He shimmied down the cliff-face to the beach and began the trek to the monastery. It was time to face another day.


End file.
